Thus from her shrineCumaea's prophetess[Note 1] Chanted the dark decree; the dreadful sound Reverberated through the bellowing cave, Commingling truth with ecstasies obscure. Apollo, as she raged, flung loosened rein, And thrust beneath her heart a quickening spur. When first her madness ceased, and her wild lips Were still at last, the hero thus began : No tribulations new, O Sibyl blest, Can now confront me; every future pain I have foretasted; my propheticsoul Endured each stroke of fate before it fell. One boon I ask. If of th' infernal king This be the portal where the murky wave Of swollen Acheron o'erflows its bound, Here let me enter and behold the face Of my loved sire[Note 2]. Thy hand may point the way; Thy word will open wide yon holy doors. My father through the flames and falling spears, Straight through the centre of our foes, I bore Upon these shoulders. My long flight he shared From sea to sea, and suffered at my side The anger of rude waters and dark skies, -- Though weak -- O task too great for old and gray! Thus as a suppliant at thy door to stand, Was his behest and prayer. On son and sire, O gracious one, have pity, -- for thy rule Is over all; no vain authority Hadst thou from Trivia o'er th' Averniangroves. If Orpheus could call back his loved one's shade, Emboldened by the lyre's melodious string : If Pollux by the interchange of deathRedeemed his twin, and oft repassed the way : If Theseus -- but why name him? why recall Alcides' task? I, too, am sprung from Jove.